


Let's Try a Bit of Magic

by Its_Me_Its_Kathy



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Quentin Coldwater, Disaster Boys, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, M/M, Magic Spells Gone Wrong, My First Work in This Fandom, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Summer Vacation, and sometimes a sexy way, but in a fun way, so clueless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24302686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_Me_Its_Kathy/pseuds/Its_Me_Its_Kathy
Summary: Quentin decides to stay at Brakebills for the summer to try to figure out his discipline. Eliot tries to help. Everyone gets distracted by feelings. They both want to do real dirty things to each other but they are, of course, true disasters. Mostly fun and fluff with eventual smut.Also a bit of on-the-nose sorting through of mental health ableism. CW for some depression talk, bi-erasure, alcohol and drug use.---------First fic for the Magicians, also, no joke, the first fic I've written in probably ten years (Quarantine!). A bit nervous, but hope you enjoy it!
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	1. A Quiet Summer

The physical kid’s cottage was uncharacteristically quiet, most students long gone for summer break. Not Eliot. Of course, he’ll go to Ibiza for a week. Well maybe two if that hydromancer shows up again, the one with those bedroom eyes, and that marvellous ability to breathe underwater. That was… memorable. But no, he was not going to be visiting ‘family’ (fuck them) or renting an overpriced loft in the city (God, Todd really did try too hard didn’t he). He liked his room, his decadently large bed, the closet that was enchanted to be *way* bigger on the inside, how the sunlight didn’t stream through the windows until mid-morning, but then became deliciously warm on his naked stretched out half-awake body. 

And luckily, the most gorgeous creature on earth / his perfect soulmate was on campus with him. Margo hated going home too (best not to ask), and they usually got into magnificently decadent and debauched things when everyone else was gone. She wasn’t as into staying in, long hours luxuriating with manuka honey and kaolin clay face masks, and sun-dazed mid-afternoon naps as Eliot, but she could be convinced to stay still for a few weeks. That is, as long as the night ended in extreme extroversion, parties, clubs, and lots of potential sex partners. And well, that suited him fine too.

‘Self-care’ started that day with cocktails and sunbathing in designer bathing suits on the lawn. Eliot’s black Gucci briefs matched his sunglasses. Margo’s skin glowed with what had to be some premium body highlighter in a white two-piece. After an hour or so, they put on some very not-incognito silk robes, walked right into the poorly warded herbalism building, and right out with multiple baggies of ‘who-knows-what-but-it-looks-potent-and-kinda-sparkles’. Still, Eliot and Margo were just slightly tipsy and only mildly stoned when they flopped down on the couch in the cottage. 

Margo scrunched her face up, all too aware of her surroundings, “El, what the fuck is with this weak shit?”

“Bambi, I told you we should have raided the residences first, the third years always have all the good stuff.” 

Eliot lay back and truly lounged across the couch, head back, dark curls artfully cascading, arm gently resting above his head. Well, it wasn’t like he was *trying* to look like Oscar Wilde’s wet dream, it was more like it was just automatic at this point. As part of his ‘ _ Eliot Waugh _ ’ reinvention, he had definitely perfected an air of too-rich-to-mention-it ennui. So he might have been habitually channelling some 19th-century nobility. Well, that is besides his complete state of undress in his black briefs and a dark blue silk robe. And for some reason, he still had his sunglasses on. 

Margo sighed, well groaned really. “If only Hoberman hadn’t left already. And he probably took everything with him, that motherfucker.” 

She kicked her feet out, flinging one of her white high heels at the opposite wall. Glass broke, some framed picture of the class of who-cares year came crashing to the ground. Eliot jumped at the sound and then burst out laughing. 

“What was that?! Is everyone ok?” Quentin came running down the stairs, obviously worried, that is until he saw Eliot and Margo giggling on the couch. 

“Oh. Yah, that makes sense,” he said.

“Quentin!” Eliot sat up and smiled, removing his sunglasses, “I didn’t know you were still here!”

“Yah,” said Margo, “I thought you went home! Or like.. to tour comic cons across the country with all the other nerds or some shit.”

“Uh, yah, I, uh, wasn’t sure if I was going to be… I mean, I didn’t think it was a good idea to go home right now. And no, Margo…. Comic-con isn’t for another two months.” Quentin walked into the living room, carefully avoiding the broken glass with his bare feet.

“Well, no problem, you can hang out with us! We have a great idea for tonight...” Eliot patted the seat beside him, but Quentin slinked into a nearby chair, somehow cross-legged with his knees on the armrests. He curled into himself automatically, but still, it felt good to know that Eliot and Margo were glad to see him. He didn’t know why they were so nice to him, well most of the time, but he tried to trust their friendship and relax, just a little. 

But yah, he wasn’t going to sit on the couch with them, not when they were in those swimsuits, not with all of Margo’s perfect skin, her thighs, Eliot’s toned, lean legs, his chest, the dark hair above his… Shit, nope Quentin, that’s enough of those thoughts right now. Friends, these are friends. And oh, Eliot was saying something?

“... and then tomorrow we’ll do it all again, but at that new queer bar, with more hallucinogens and less straight people.”

“Yes, oh my god, I can’t wait.” Margo said, “It’s already getting so dull here.”

Quentin took a moment to let his frontal cortex play catch up, “Yah, uh, no offence, but I think I’ll pass, not really my thing.”

“Fine, fine, we don’t have to go to the queer bar if it makes you uncomfortable,” Eliot said, relaxing into the couch cushions.

Quentin mumbled, “no, no it’s not that.” Really, could no one tell he was bi? Seriously? “It’s just that well, along with not being into several of those things, specifically the probable felonies, I don’t have time.”

“Oh, someone is being super mysterious!” Margo teased, “What is it? Or who is it?” She grabbed Eliot’s hand with a conspiratorial grin, “Is it Quinn? Is she around? Or, oooh, is it that telepathist? The one with the magically altered spock ears? Don’t think I didn’t see the way she was all eye-’pom farring' you at our last party.”

“No! God Margo!” Quentin blushed, “No Alice isn’t here, besides, we broke up a while ago, and anyways, Tina... “

“Who?” Margo interrupted. 

“Spock-ears. You’re awful. Anyways, she’s nice but like way too intense. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she has some interesting points on prime-to-original timeline theories, but I actually am not going to join her LARPing group. Like, they just wanted a Reginald Barclay, and yah, ok I get it, but who wants to role play as an anxious mess when you’re 24/7…” A couch pillow flew into his face.

“OH MY GOD STOP!” Margo shouted. “Jeeeeez-us Q.”

Eliot had been trying to listen, but actually no, that was a lie, he was basically just watching Q’s cheeks get all red, and he looked kinda nice today, maybe he just had a shower. His hair was a bit fluffy, the way it got right after he roughly towel dried it, with no product, that philistine. Maybe he _is_ meeting someone?

“Sooo, who is it then?” He asked... for some reason.

Quentin sank a bit further into the chair. “I’m not staying here for anyone.” He became quieter, “I have to… I need to find out what my discipline is.”

Shit, Eliot knew that this was actually a big deal. After everyone else had received their disciplines and he was left “Undetermined,” Quentin had become kinda detached. He wasn’t geeking out as much over magic lately. It had been a while since he stole Margo from him to discuss the latest message board theories on Fillory. And at the last Cottage party, he didn’t corner inebriated party guests to exhaustively detail how Jules Verne must have been a high-level Prognosticator. He just drank, sat by himself, and only socialized when Eliot dragged him out of a particularly sad-looking nook to gossip and smoke on the patio. He should try to say something.

“Oh Q! It’s really not that big a deal! Plenty of magicians take time to figure that out. I mean, it’s usually because their discipline is just kinda obscure, hard to figure out. Hey Margo, remember Serena?”

“Oh yah!” she replied, “yah, she didn’t know what her discipline was for years! I mean, oh man, do you remember? Wasn’t it like… Mastery of cream-based sauces? That was *hilarious*!” 

Quentin looked horrified. 

Margo added, “oh honey, no, no, I’m sure yours is much better than that. Also, just saying, Q, I’ve never had a better Béchamel.” 

Quentin buried his head in his hands. Shit, wrong approach. Eliot sat up and tried to shake off his buzz and be a bit more tactful, “Q, you’re probably something equal parts heroic and nerdy, don’t worry. Like a literal knight-in-shining-armour discipline, complete with heraldry-based magic.” 

Quentin laughed, dropped his hands and slumped back against his chair. “That cannot exist. But, can you imagine summoning some of those drawings of medieval animals?” Quentin pointed an invisible wand at them. “Face my mighty Snail-Goat! Or beware my terrible centaur with no arms and many tail feathers!”

Margo and Eliot just stared. 

Margo then looked at her hands, turning them over, “What the fuck was that? Eliot did that shit just kick in? Am I tripping massive balls?” 

Quentin sighed, put his head back in his hands, “I miss Julia.”

Eliot tskd at Margo, who was grinning stupidly, but also beautifully. He reached out, put a hand on Quentin’s arm. “Do you have any idea at all what your discipline might be?”

Quentin recalled all his failures over the last year. “Yah, so no, I don’t. I thought maybe it might be telekinesis? Because of the card tricks, but they gave me the gamut of tests, and yah, that didn’t go well. Lots of broken things. For a while, they thought I might have some talent in herbalism, but I had a headache by the second class, I really can’t handle that much smoke. Oh! And then, we all know what happened when I tried to do those healing spells, and like I can’t apologize enough to Todd but, I’m sorry, it wasn’t supposed to *stay* green...”

“Ok, ok, so yah, traditional methods haven’t worked.” Elliot interrupted, “I don’t know, well, maybe we could help? There’s got to be other ways to figure this stuff out.”

“Oh,” Quentin was surprised, he thought he’d have to bumble his way through a summer of (probably failed) self-discovery himself, “yah, I mean, if it wouldn’t mess with your guys’ plans too much...”

Margo groaned loudly, “No Eliot, Come on. That isn’t the deal at all. I am not hanging out here all summer just to do research…”

“Oh Bambi,” Eliot leaned his head against Margo, squeezing her hand, “no of course not, you? The library? In summer? That doesn’t seem right at all. Q and I can do this on our own, you always get bored of Brakebills and need your little you-time for a few weeks.”

Margo pouted, again, beautifully. 

“You know it happens every break right? You effortlessly seduce the hottest person at the club with the most money, and then escape with them to their island or mansion or yacht, until it’s all way too boring, and you come back to me... with presents.”

Margo cocks her head to the side and slowly smiles, “Yah, I guess there was Ray with their private chef and beach house last year for a couple weeks.” 

“And who could forget Camila? With her jet? And that.. talented mouth,” said Eliot, smirking.

“Ok fine, Camilla did text me this week…” Margo pulled out her contraband phone, and passed it to Eliot. 

He went wide-eyed at the screen, “Bambi! I mean, I knew she was voluptuous but that is, those are impressive.” 

By this point, Quentin had disappeared as far into the chair as possible, really genuinely hoping that they somehow forgot that he could hear them. 

Margo stood up, and started to walk upstairs while texting, “Ok fine, you can nerd out with Quentin, help him figure out his discipline, or get his groove back, who cares, but don’t go full pasty on me. I expect at least a solid base coat when I return.”

“Promise, with no tan lines,” Eliot replied.

Eliot lay back, stretching himself across the length of the couch and looked at Quentin, who was blushing quite adorably. 

“Ok, Q, I’m all yours.” 


	2. I guess we read books now?

_ “Dulce lacticiniis!” _

_ And with that final word, Erla felt her whole body alight. She had found her calling. From this day forth, she would know true power. The village was saved! She marvelled as one by one, every flavour of ice cream filled the table. They would feast tonight! _

Quentin slammed the book shut and tossed it onto a messy pile in a corner of the library. “Oh my god, is every obscure magic discipline dairy-based?!” he shouted, to no one... well, to the books. They were being the *worst*. And he was frustrated. So far, every story of magicians finding their discipline was useless, no quest lines to follow, mysterious monks to consult, or spells to cast, just people wandering through life and stumbling into their talents. 

It had been amazing at first, finding out magic was real. Finally his life had a purpose, and he was one of the privileged few able to access this secret power. But over the last year, here at Brakebills, among magicians who could heal mortal wounds, bend light, and read each other’s thoughts, he had started to feel a little less special and a little more… like his old self. Full of potential but unable to do anything with it, left behind while his friends achieved things he could only dream about. 

The feeling was achingly familiar. One thing they don’t tell you about mental illness is how much longer everything takes you to do. Sure, it’s not so bad the first time you lose a couple of weeks to major depression, you’re not that far behind, but well after the third or fourth time, you notice that your old classmates are in next term’s classes, and that person you were (trying to) flirt with has now been dating someone else for months. And it’s like, oh right, I guess the world was going on as usual while I was stuck in my bed (or institutionalized). 

He didn’t want to be left behind again, he wasn’t sure he could take it this time, not here. He always had Julia on the outside. She stayed, making sure he caught up on work and took summer classes when he could. But she wasn’t here now (oof thinking about that is too hard), and what would happen next year when all his friends were learning to master their magical powers and he was still fizzing out trying to levitate a cup.

Shit, he was starting to feel even more awful, and he really didn’t want to be pulled into that well-known spiral right now. Maybe he could take a break, maybe something could distract him. He knew Eliot was with Margo still, her plane didn’t leave till tomorrow, and they were smoking and laughing on the lawn when he left the cottage this morning. They looked so happy. Eliot has his arm around Margo, laughing at something, or someone. His long fingers idly drew circles on her arm as she leaned against his shoulder. 

Oh, ok, just a quick break.

Even though the sun had set, it didn’t take Quentin long to find them. The campus was basically deserted and he knew that no one else would be shooting fireworks into the sky over the east lawn. 

Especially not fireworks that exploded into gigantic sparkling images of genitalia.

“Q!” Eliot yelled, beckoning him over. They were lounging on a blanket on the slope of a grassy hill making ridiculous “Oooooos” and “Aaaaaahs” for every new display. They each had their own bottle of champagne. As he approached they scooted over, giving him room to lie down beside Eliot. 

“Yah, I don’t know about this…” Quentin said as he tried, and failed, to lie down as least awkwardly as possible. He had to scoot up quite a few inches and find a place for his arms... on his stomach? No, definitely stiff by your sides, that seems normal. Alright, folded under his head.

“We’re giving Margo a goodbye sendoff tonight!” Eliot said as he squeezed Margo into a hug, “So she’ll come back soon.”

“Yah, no thanks,” Margo said gruffly while leaning into Eliot’s hug “I’m not going to rush back for study sessions from non-stop cunnilingus.” She leaned back and looked up at the sky to see a particularly dazzling explosion of at least 50 dicks shimmering through the night. “Although this, this is really very sweet, thanks El.”

“I had to do something special. I only have one Bambi.”

“Yah you do, Bitch.” 

After a few moments of enjoyable silence, Eliot looked at Quentin. The fireworks cast multi-coloured lights across his face, dancing highlights across his cheekbones, brow, nose, the delicate cupid’s bow of his lips. He almost looked relaxed. 

“Enjoying the show?”

Quentin smirked, still looking up, “Yah, it’s actually.. It’s beautiful.”

“Glad you approve, Quentin Coldwater.”

“I mean, it’s a *little* bit pornographic, but honestly, for you? I am appreciating your restraint.”

Eliot grinned, “Pornographic! Never! This is art, Q!”

“Literally, that last one was just a large butt with neon dicks zooming around it shooting rainbows. It’s a sketchbook from when I was 12.”

“Oh, ye of little culture, that represented the radical queer struggle against homonormativity and pinkwashing.”

“Sure.” Quentin replied, exaggeratedly nodding.

“But also, I am going to need to see *all* your childhood art.” Eliot said and took a sip of champagne.

Margo laughed loudly and Quentin and Eliot took a moment to look at each other and smile. 

The rest of the night was really quite fun, and maybe ended in a drinking game with spray paint and Dean Fogg’s office door. That was going to be trouble. But all-in-all, Quentin felt kinda nice going to bed that night, almost like he wasn’t as awful and broken as he thought.

  
  


Margo left early the next day with a “Later bitch!” as she got into the limo Camilla had sent for her. Eliot almost tried to get in with her, I mean, three wasn’t *always* a crowd. But, instead, he watched her go and walked back inside to find Quentin organizing several stacks of books on the dining room table.

“And what is all this?” he said, looking through books, completely disrupting the system Quentin was building.

Quentin yanked a book out of Eliot’s hand, “No, not that one, I already read that one. These are all the stories from magicians that took a while to figure out their disciplines. We can search through them to find clues to how to, you know... figure it out.”

Eliot sat at a chair, put his legs up on the table, knocking over a pile. 

“Oh come on,” Quentin said while moving books away from his feet. “I thought you wanted to help.”

“I am!” Eliot grinned, “I am here to inspire your studies. Feel free to gaze upon my perfection, marvel at my talents, and seek erudite wisdom as needed.”

“Great. So by helping you meant more of a drunk-before-noon and annoying me till I hide in the library method?” Quentin said while still re-arranging piles of way too many books.

“Mmm, well, I have a severe aversion to pointless tasks” Eliot said, leaning back.

Quentin laughed sharply. “Last week you spent two hours choosing between Cobalt and Azure scarves.”

“I don’t get your point.” 

“They’re both blue.”

“You’re just so from New Jersey.”

“It was 78 degrees out!” Quentin was smiling wide. 

Eliot shrugged and smiled back. Quentin shook his head and picked up a book, reading it while pacing around the table. 

God, he really was going to just go through all of these. Eliot watched Quentin’s brows move as he read, the earnest concentration on his face. He kept having to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear. Eliot thought briefly about offering a hair tie, it looked pretty cute pulled back into a ponytail. Very soft butch, a favourite aesthetic. But also, Quentin’s hair was perfect like this too. All impossibly soft looking, dishevelled but lustrous, and the way his long side part fell forward and stuck to those ridiculously beautiful lips. Ok fine, he thought Quentin’s whole face was beautiful. But that just happened sometimes, and it was best not to dwell or get caught up in how much you wanted to kiss your straight friends. Indiana did have a few useful lessons. So, he probably shouldn’t just sit here, watching Quentin read, all nerdy and lips parted, because apparently that was becoming a new *thing* for him on top of everything else...

“Uh, ok. No offence, Q, but this is the exact wrong way to go about this.” 

Surprisingly, Quentin didn’t argue but just put the book down and slumped in a nearby chair.

“Maybe, probably, but I don’t know. There’s not exactly an instruction manual, believe me, I looked. The closest I found was “The Big Book of Magic for Kids” which had pictures of eight-year-olds learning their magical disciplines by travelling with a giant caterpillar and visiting wizards in outer space. I mean... at least, I don’t think it was a manual because that could actually be pretty cool…”

Eliot interrupted, “Ok, no, I think this all needs a more  _ practical  _ approach. First off, you can’t just copy other magicians, because that’s just not how magic works Q, it’s too variable for that. Magic doesn’t just flow through us randomly, deciding ok, this person will be telekinetic, this one is psychic. Outside of our own small bodies, magic is just one big fucked up energy field. We each have our own … ‘je ne sais quoi’ that amplifies, and disrupts, the magic around us.”

Quentin never really gets to hear Eliot talk like this. He’s usually so flippant about magic, almost utilitarian... if that utility was mostly for party tricks and not moving to get things.

“And it’s not kind. Magic reacts through us in ways that we can’t always control. It works through our scars, our traumas…” Eliot looks like he’s somewhere else. 

And Quentin remembers what he said to him once before, repeating it now, “Magic comes from pain.” 

Eliot looks at him then, and something in him suddenly changes, maybe he looks worried for a second, but it passes quickly. He gets up and pats Quentin’s shoulder, “Anyways, it certainly doesn’t come from self-aggrandizing autobios. Let’s get out of here.”

Quentin is dazed for a second, brought back into feelings he was trying to forget, but then realizes that Eliot is out the door and he spins around to follow.

“Where are you going?” Quentin asks as he pulls on his shoes and hops outside.

“Come on, I have an idea, and it’s probably brilliant!” Eliot says as he walks into campus.

Quentin runs up and walks briskly beside him, trying to match Eliot’s long-legged strides. Eliot continues, “We have to get your file.”

“My what?” Quentin huffs.

“Your file, the one that the school keeps which contains all your most intimate personal details.”

“What?! No, that doesn’t exist. They can’t have that.” Quentin is shocked, why would Brakebills have details on his life, where would they even get that?

“Oh, don’t look like that, it’s standard practice. They have to make sure you are who they say you are, and that you aren’t like, I don’t know a mysterious serial killer who will use your new magical powers to murder urchins in the street, blah blah blah. Think of it as a magical background check.” Eliot says, smiling back at Quentin, who is now definitely lagging and freaking out at the same time.

“What kind of... What kind of stuff do they put in there?” 

“Oh you know, school grades, volunteer activities, hobbies, parents income, defining coming of age moments, most embarrassing memories, _detailed kinks and perversions_ …” Ok, Eliot was definitely teasing him now... right? 

He went on, “They do their research on you before you’re admitted, you had to know that. And then, you know, a few quick scans during the first week or two by the top Brakebills telepaths.”

They had reached the main admin building now and Eliot went through a few tuts breaking down the magic locks on the front door. 

“Why do we even need that? Eliot, wait, stop, it’s daylight, someone will see us.”

But he had already opened the door and snuck inside. Quentin looked around for witnesses and then rushed inside and shut the door.

Eliot led them down the hall to a door marked ‘Records’ and began doing the tuts on this door as well, his fingers quickly going through different configurations, like of course breaking and entering is a spell he has perfected. He didn’t even have to look down, just straight at Quentin as he said, “We don’t need to learn about other magicians, Q, we just have to learn about you.”

Quentin was whispering now, well angry whispering. “Uhh, no we don’t. I already know about me, and there is nothing interesting or special that particularly screams, yes, do this type of magic. Don’t you think I would have figured that out already? Also, no, Eliot, we’re not doing this.”

The door unlocked and Eliot stepped through, striding towards an unmarked file cabinet. “Why not?”

Quentin followed him. “One, we don’t need to read a file about me, I’m right here. And really important number two here, it’s fucking private!”

Eliot laughed, flipping through folders, “That’s exactly *why* we need this. This whole awkward repressed nerd thing works for you, it really does, but we need some actual useful information now. Oh, here!” 

He smiled as he pulled out a beige folder with a large ‘Quentin Coldwater’ label. 

“Eliot, give me that folder,” Quentin said, all serious eyes and pursed lips, and held his hand out. Eliot resisted the urge to hold it high above his head and tease him mercilessly, but instead, just handed it over.

“I still don’t think we need this, it’s not like...” Quentin said as he began immediately reading his file. He lost his train of thought and just stared at the page in his hand.

“What?” 

“Well, that explains it,” Quentin said quietly, “I shouldn’t even be here.”

“That’s ridiculous, what does it say?” Eliot felt his heart sink, maybe this was one of his less than brilliant ideas.

“I barely passed the entrance exam, and there’s a note in here… from a professor.” Quentin’s voice started to crack, “Unable to perform basic spells. Frequent poor moods. Re-evaluation of magical potential recommended. Unlikely to meet Brakebills standards…. Questionable mental fortitude” Quentin felt his skin begin to crawl, his chest grow heavy, and every terrible thing he had thought about himself come crashing back into his brain. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, or how time even works anymore, but suddenly Eliot was grabbing the page from his hand and tearing it up.

“Yah, no, fuck that shit.” Eliot looked... angry? “That is ridiculously stupid.”

All Quentin could do was just look at Eliot, wide-eyed. “Who even says that about a first-year student? Was it Grims? He’s the absolute worst, like he couldn’t tell magical talent if Elrond was in his class.”

Quentin actually laughed, while still somehow looking miserable, “What? Did you just say Elrond??”

“You know what I mean…” Eliot rolled his eyes, he was *trying* to be nerd relatable. “He tortures students because he chose to dedicate his life’s work to projecting magical messages over long distances. Then the internet made him so irrelevant they barely let him teach Introduction to Scroll Writing.”

Eliot tried to relax a little, he realized that he was still holding onto the scraps of paper, balled up tight in his fists. He let them drop to the floor and lowered his gaze, slinking back to lean against a wall. 

“Q, I know you’re like… really in your head about all this. So, ok, this is where I get all sentimental and serious, but it’s only because you look like you’re about to collapse and I am not wearing my carrying fainting men shoes today. But, you shouldn’t be worried, and you definitely shouldn’t listen to that crap note. I know you’re basically bursting with magic, I mean, we all do… notice it. You may have been doing your card tricks for years, but that’s not small magic, just because it’s … well small. And, at the Welters competition, that vortex was, well it was actually terrifying.”

“And it almost killed everybody…” Quentin interrupted, bending down to pick up the paper scraps and put them in the trash.

Eliot walked over to him, putting his hand on the side of his head, fingers slowly moving to cup his cheek, guiding his face upwards to look at him. It was so incredibly gentle, Quentin felt his heart stick in his throat, time slowing down to just the delicate touch of Eliot’s fingers on his skin.

“So what, who hasn’t? Or, in my case, you know... actually. That was real power, Q. You just don’t know where it comes from yet, or where it’s meant to go, but it’s there. And it’s magnificent. Truly.” 

Something felt too large in Eliot’s chest, his heart rate too fast, he moved away, leaned back against the desk. “So you can’t effortlessly get a bar set to mix perfect cocktails on its own, or create breathtaking contemporary art in fireworks, or, own any nice clothes, brush your hair in the morning…”

“Ok, you can shut up now.” Quentin smiled, standing up. He started to open the folder again.

“You know what?” Eliot said, grabbing the folder and quickly putting it back in the cabinet, “Forget the file.”

“Yah?” Quentin asked, relieved.

“Yah, all this will tell us about is the shitty past, without magic, or Brakebills, or incredibly intelligent and attractive tall friends..”

Quentin laughed, “Hah, ok, it wasn’t all bad… some of my friends were kinda tall...”

“I’ve met Julia. Yah, but what I said before... You know about magic coming out through our pain and traumas, that’s shit. We don’t need to sit in our pain to figure anything out, that’s some terrible introduction to psych therapy right there. I don’t know about you, but I don’t need to be in my trauma anymore than I already was. Repressed conservative homophobes of Indiana can go fuck themselves. And I think you should tell what is in that folder to fuck off too.”

Quentin smiled, a brick ton of anxiety slowly melting.

“Ok, um... Yah, fuck all of that shit. Fuck high school making my life hell. Fuck people freaking out when I can’t get out bed, and fuck them for not wanting to know why. Fuck everyone who ditched me when I wasn’t well, and fuck being institutionalized against my will.”

“Wow, perfect enunciation on all those 'fucks' Q, really well done. But yah, all that shit sucks, and you definitely don’t have to relive it to figure out magic.” Eliot slammed the cabinet door shut.

“Shh! Oh my god, someone will hear you.” 

Quentin grabbed his arm and dragged Eliot out of the room, carefully scanning the hallway to make sure the coast was clear. Meanwhile, Eliot got a cigarette out and lit it with his other hand.

“You’re a shit,” Quentin said when they were outside.

“Yah, but you love me,” Eliot replied, putting his arm around his shoulders and passing him the cigarette. 

Quentin smiled, not able to really respond, and took a drag. “Soo…” he said, “square one.”

“Fuck, yah, I guess so,” Eliot said, taking the cigarette back. 

They walked quietly for a few minutes. The sun was beginning to set, and Quentin watched Eliot smoke, his mind obviously turning, hazel eyes focused on the horizon. God, he looked so confident, and he seemed so sure about him. And Quentin knew that he should have his own self-confidence or whatever, but if Eliot Waugh believed in him, then… just maybe.

“I don’t know, let’s just try a bunch of shit.”

“What?” Quentin asked.

“Like, we’re in a magical school, with almost no supervision, and there are literally amazing spells and their components just … around.”

“Oh, yah, I don’t know… we can’t just go trying random spells, that could actually be kind of dangerous.”

“Oh come on, it’s summertime, the living is easy or whatever, and I’ll make sure we don’t tamper with anything too risky, we’ll be *very* responsible.” Eliot had a full-on mischievous fucking smile at this point.

Quentin laughed, “Yah, no way. I’m not sure about your definition of risky… or responsible.”

Eliot bounded up to the cottage’s front steps, “Trust me, Q. And who knows, maybe it will even be fun!”


	3. Illusionary Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,  
> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos!! They mean so much to me, and it's helping my writing nerves a bunch. I'm not really sure what my release schedule will be like going forward, but I'll try do at least one chapter a week. Anyways, here's the next chapter! CW for a bit of smut and biphobia

_ Dark curls in his hands, fingers winding around soft strands down to rough stubble, a many pin-point scratch against his palm, the feeling of a strong jaw moving, saying something, unintelligible but wanting. Warm breath at his temple, the deep sound of a moan, the scent of sage and cedar. A long body pressed against him, tight, grasping, grabbing, pressure on his hips, blood rushing to his dick, a tightening behind his balls. Eager hand on his waist, delicate fingers dipping below the waistband of his underwear. And hazel eyes meeting his, a smirk behind wet bitten lips. _

Oh! Quentin woke up, heart racing, breath coming fast and sweat behind his neck. God, why did his sex dreams always end before the sex?   


He was so hard, tenting up his Fillory sheets. A picture of a clock in brambles was perversely stretched, and, oh… no… did he… was that a sex dream about Eliot?

Fuck, this wasn’t good, and also, shit, he was so turned on still. He knew he shouldn’t but his mind raced back to any images he could cling to, Eliot pressing against him, pushing him against the desk. The hard jolt of his hips against his thighs. Quentin’s hand quickly went to his dick, wrapping around himself, moving up and down, pre-cum slick against his palm. The dark look in Eliot’s eyes, the way his mouth fell open as he touched him, cupped his cheek. The way his fingers lingered on his lips, then went inside his mouth, his to taste and suck. Quentin’s hand moved faster, his breaths ragged and his eyes closed, picturing Eliot’s gorgeous chest, nipples, stomach, and that tight black swimsuit, the noticeable outline of his considerably large dick. Oh god, he would fucking fill… Fuck! He moaned as he came, biting his lips to not cry Eliot’s name, cum spreading across his hand, messing up his pyjamas. 

He lay there breathing for a while, all sticky and trying to process and also definitely not process what just happened. Shit. 

This was a terrible idea. It was super not cool to think about your friends during sex fantasies, right? Like, that is probably a bad thing and weird, and maybe really creepy. Also, he had spent years fixated on Julia, who was his friend, and just his friend, and it sucked so much. He really didn’t need to repeat that heartache. Not that it was the same, I mean. It’s not like… shit. 

“Ughhh…” Quentin groaned as he got out of bed and tucked those thoughts deep deep down, hopefully safe behind an extra-strong wall of repression. 

After a very necessary shower, he finger-combed his hair to a side part and threw on an old grey shirt and some black jeans. As he walked downstairs, he saw Eliot in the kitchen, pouring coffee. Expertly. Like just swirling the coffee into some steamed milk, eyes concentrated, the swell of his bare forearm as he held the coffee pot, the elegant positioning of his fingers on the cup. Jesus, why is this turning him on? 

“Coffee?” Eliot looked at him all friendly and sweet and not like Quentin is having stupid inappropriate thoughts, staring at his fingers and blushing like a weirdo.

“Um, yah, thanks.” Quentin sat at the counter. It’s fine, just concentrating on delicious hot coffee now.

And then Eliot bent over to get something out of the oven. Fuck! Quentin spilled coffee down his chin, and almost dropped his cup.

Eliot laughed, putting a tray of scones on a trivet. “Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.”

Quentin sighed, his shirt covered in coffee. “Yah…” he can’t disagree, “how do cups work again? The opening goes *under* your chin right?”

Eliot smirked and got him a napkin, “Close, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out someday.” 

“One can dream.” Quentin wiped down his chin, and then tried to blot some of the coffee from his shirt.

Eliot put a warm scone on a plate and passed it over. He knows that sometimes Quentin forgets to eat, and it happens more when he’s in his own head and worried or sad or... So sour cherry scones seemed like a really good idea today. 

He still felt guilty about pushing Quentin to look at his file, I mean, he couldn’t have known, but he should have. And, they hadn’t even got to the harder stuff in there from his past. Quentin had told him a bit about his episodes, and the institutions, and for some stupid reason he thought that he needed to look deeper there, find the missing pieces in his hurt and pain. He thought, maybe… maybe one of his psychiatrists had noticed something crucial and written it down, or a telepath or professor... 

But, what did they know, they were probably all distracted by the, well... outward mess of a human being. Quentin has crumbs all down his shirt, literally sticking to that coffee spill now. 

It’s hard to see around it sometimes, deep emotional scars notwithstanding, but also that he can’t seem to form coherent sentences half the time, or make eye contact unless he’s rambling about Fillory or quests, and someone needs to take this poor boy shopping for shirts that actually fit. But also, he cares. God, he cares so damn much. About magic, Fillory, and his friends, even the ones that fuck up horribly on a regular basis… 

And he basically exudes magic, he can’t be the only one that feels it. The … ok, this sounds stupid, but it’s like the air is  _ sparkling _ around him, but oh god, no, *not* in an Edward way. It’s almost like after a few sips of really good champagne, the afterglow of small bubbles against your lips and tongue. It’s faint sometimes, and other times, really not, but he kind of likes it. Honestly, Eliott thinks Quentin’s magic feels wonderful.

“What?” Quentin said, all furrowed brow and mouth full of scone. Elliot realizes he’s been staring.

“Oh.. no, it’s nothing, you have crumbs.”

“I do? Where?” Quentin is holding up the top of his shirt to look at it.

“Everywhere.” 

He shrugged, finishing off his scone in one large bite.

“Oh, my god Coldwater, change your shirt and meet me outside. We have too much absconding with stolen materials to do for you to leave a literal trail of crumbs in our wake.”

Quentin frowned but went upstairs to change.

When he came back downstairs in another (!?) grey shirt, Quentin found Eliot on the steps, head back, soaking up the sun. “So, where are we going and what are we ‘only actually borrowing temporarily’ and definitely not stealing?”

“Well, that’s kind of up to you,” Elliot replied, smiling up at him from the stairs.

“What? I thought you had some kind of plan?” 

“Nope! I thought we’d brainstorm this one together, seeing as, like you said, you already know you.”

“Uh, what do you mean?” Quentin sat on the stairs but also why couldn’t they stay inside for this part? The sun is way too bright, he swears that whoever calibrated Brakebill’s magically ‘perfect’ weather must have been the most annoying morning person. 

“Well, like, let’s focus on your talents first. We should try out some magical disciplines that you’re already partial to. Anything come to mind?”

Again, Quentin was drawn into his many memories of failure over the past year. “Not really, nothing. I mean, I am kinda good at library studies. I’ve really got Dewey decimal figured out, and don’t make any weird mouth noises when I’m reading… which is apparently really hard for half the school”

Eliot laughed, “Q, come on, you’re plenty talented. Like, you have way more patience for studying and research than I do.”

“That bar, El, is so very low.” Quentin grinned.

“Well, some of us just have natural gifts, what can I say,” Eliot replied, combing his fingers through his dark curls. “But Q, ok, you also are super into Fillory right? Like you’re maybe the biggest Fillory nerd?”

Quentin drew his chin in, “Oh, I would not say that, I only ever had gold status on the message boards. Really, compared to some Fillory buffs, they were like citadel scholars and I was a villager in the outer Thagon woods. I mean, you should have seen the spreadsheets…”

Eliot put a hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “Nope, hard limit Q. What I mean is that… all that nerding out, fantasizing about half-naked fairies and super hetero macho knights with broad chests… you probably have a pretty good imagination right?”

Quentin’s breath hitched. Yah, his imagination was ok... and he tried really hard not to remember the vivid fantasies he was having that morning. God, Eliot would make a really hot knight… or fairy. Smouldering in eyeliner, shirtless, reclined in a bed of overgrown wildflowers, roses in his curls, vines magically twisting out from the bed to grab Quentin’s body and bring him closer.

“Q?” Eliot interrupted.

Suppression walls. Don’t blush, just don’t. “Oh, sorry, yes, sorry, Fillory… got caught up thinking about those spreadsheets.”

“Yah, ok… take that as yes.” Why is Quentin blushing? It’s adorable. “I mean, maybe your magical discipline has something to do with that?“

“What, spreadsheets?”

“Work with me here, Q. I mean, an overactive imagination...” 

“I guess?” Quentin’s voice pitched higher, “but like, uh, what?”

“I mean, illusionists are always going on and on about the importance of mental imagery, they’re practically gagging over story and fantasy. Have you ever tried any illusion magic?” Eliot watched Quentin think, his brow downturned, lips slightly parted as he put a knee up on a higher step, and rested his elbow against it.

“Yah, I mean, we all took Introduction to Illusions but, it was pretty theoretical. I got the sense that they thought we weren’t ready for much yet…”

“Oh my god yah, they’re huge into gatekeeping. They won’t even let anyone else into their residence, it’s fucking invisible. If you want in, you have to detect the invisibility spell and break its wards. *So* pretentious, and that’s coming from me.” 

Quentin smiled, a slight upturn of his lips as he took his eyes off the ground for a moment. “You’re not  _ that _ bad Eliot. I mean, you haven’t tried to convince me to use shampoo ‘without sulphates’ for over a month now.”

“Oh, no, I learned my lesson. I magically altered organic shampoo to look like your brand and replaced it.”

“What?” Quentin’s eyes went wide.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Eliot leaned back, gazing upwards.

Quentin pulled a strand of his hair in front of his face, examining it. “I thought it was softer because I was eating better…” he said softly.

“Hah! You ate boxed mac and cheese for almost every meal last week!”

“Yah! But it was the nice kind! It had peas in it!”

Eliot put his hand on Quentin’s knee and looked him right in the eyes, face completely serious, “Please let me feed you more, you’re going to get scurvy.” 

“Stop saying I’m going to get scurvy! I looked it up and it’s not even that common anymore!” Quentin shouted standing up.

“Vitamin deficiencies can cause stunted growth and early wrinkles, I’m just concerned.” Eliot deadpanned.

Quentin was full-on wild gesturing now, “I can’t physically get taller anymore, Eliot! That’s not how that works.”

“Not with that attitude.” 

“And fine yes, research is showing that scurvy is making a comeback! But that’s because of income inequality and food deserts in American cities, but look around, that is definitely not here! And I eat vegetables! The peas!! I told you about them, right?! And also, I’m pretty sure that the cafeteria food is magically fortified with multivitamins because it certainly tastes like it…”

Eliot was just grinning up at Quentin, biting his lip to keep from laughing too hard. Quentin looked down, and frowned. Right, yah, ok. He sat down and crossed his arms, staring straight ahead.  “Ok. Fuck off” 

“I’m still going to make you dinner tonight.” Eliot leaned against him, he couldn’t help it. Quentin was so adorable when he pouted. All bottom lip and brows, he just wanted to squeeze him.

“Fine.” Quentin said but then quickly softened, smiling a bit, “that’s actually nice of you. Thank you.”

“Of course! Gotta feed my growing boy.”

Quentin laughed, “Shut up.”

Eliot rested his head on Quentin’s shoulder, entwining their arms, knees touching. It was actually super nice, Eliot was really nice, even when he was being maddening. Quentin usually didn’t do platonic physical affection. It wasn’t really in his repertoire, but with Eliot it just felt so natural, like an easy extension of their friendship and comfort with one another. Ok, sometimes it was a bit hard because, it could be a bit confusing, when Quentin was having *feelings* and Eliot touched him, and it felt like he was going to start giggling like a teenager and jump back with the shock of it. But yah, he knew that Eliot was just a physically affectionate person, and that it didn’t mean anything more. They were friends, and Quentin was really thankful for that. 

Anyways, it’s not like he was Eliot’s usual type, of which there were admittedly many, but no one that was like Quentin. They were either sleight and fey, or hairy, large, and deep-voiced, or sometimes clean-shaven country club ken dolls, obnoxious Ralph Lauren shirts and all. And Quentin was well… all his shirts were at least two years old, and he definitely couldn’t bench his own weight, or know how to bench anything really. He didn’t know anything about theatre or food or whatever it was they talked about in the few hours before they disappeared to Eliot’s bedroom. And they were probably all very very gay, like into gay bars and knowing everyone in them, and having some sort of code that he just couldn’t access because well, Quentin wasn’t gay. He wasn’t ever really welcomed into those spaces, it’s not like he was physically barred from them, strobing purple, pink, and blue lights going off whenever he tried to enter a gay bar. It’s just that he never really found a way into that scene, and no one seemed to want him there when he tried. It was also hard to tell if it was cause he was Bi or just ridiculously awkward.

But in college, he had tried to join a queer men’s gaming group. He went to a few meetups and after a while, he realized that everyone just assumed he was gay. Maybe it was just easier? And then an ex-girlfriend came over to say hi one night and Quentin said, “Oh, yah, no, that was my ex, actually” after she left. And there was definitely a look! And he didn’t get invited back. It’s like, what did they think, that he was suddenly lying about liking men? Like he was trying to worm his way into their precious group? But whatever, they were actually terrible at gaming, and only wanted to play Cards Against Humanity, which is *so* awful and offensive, and not even really a game. And they were so bored when Quentin tried to explain the Battlestar Galactica board game, which is excellent, so it wasn’t a huge social loss. Also, after that, Quentin had a pretty good excuse for not leaving his apartment and “meeting new people” like Julia had insisted.

“Quentin?” 

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” Eliot was looking at him, studying his face with a concerned look, and Quentin felt tight in his chest and throat. His face was too easy to read, it was humiliating.

Eliot replied, “no, it’s ok, it’s fine to like, not saying anything sometimes. But you just looked upset, are you ok?” Eliot was being kind and sweet, of course, ugh, his heart was beating way too loud in his chest.

“Yah, sorry, just thinking about what you were saying, you know… about illusion magic.” Quentin said, disentangling their arms to sweep hair out of his face.

“Oh, yah, right.” Eliot’s eyes narrowed for a second, as he leaned back, giving Quentin some space. “So, what do you think, want to try some illusion magic then?”

“Uh.. yah, let’s do that? But what, I mean, it’s a huge field, and I don’t really know any spells, or what to even start with.”

“Well, you’re in luck because I’m your Guy Friday.”

Quentin grinned, “What?”

“Well, I just have *so* much experience. And I’ve got more than a few illusion spells up my sleeve.” 

“Hah, I thought you hated your illusion classes.” 

Eliot smiled, “well, that’s because very few appreciate my particular … dedication. You see, in illusion magic you project a little bit of your mind’s eye into most spells, and well, my mind has a particular focus that Professor Levin rudely called ‘inappropriate’ and ‘crude.’”

Quentin shook his head, laughing, “Oh my god, the fireworks.”

“What can I say, I have a true gift.”

“It’s amazing how much you actually mean that.”

“I have excellent attention to detail, sometimes it pays to be a specialist.” Eliot was grinning.

“A Guy Friday is supposed to be a generalist.” Quentin cocked his head to the side, being an adorable brat.

“Gif, Jif, Q,” Eliot said, still grinning.

“No! We are not discussing that again!” 

Eliot laughed and stood up, giving Quentin a hand to help him up too. “Enough stalling, let’s find you an illusion spell.” 

They spent the rest of the morning going over the spells that Eliot remembered. Quentin became  _ obsessed _ with one called “Mirror Image” which projected multiple copies of your image into the space around you. He wouldn’t stop talking about a gnome illusionist he played in D&D in junior high that used that “exact spell to fool a whole troop of kobolds,” until Eliot left the room to go make lunch. Anyways, it was probably too complicated, but Quentin made a note to look it up later ‘just in case’. Eventually, while eating the best sandwich Quentin had ever tasted, prosciutto and pesto on sourdough olive bread, they settled on minor invisibility. It was, after all, the first spell that an illusionist should be able to figure out to even find their residence. Also, it didn’t require any breaking and entering to steal spell components, so Quentin was all in. 

“Ok, just go through Poppers 25 into 37 with a soft bridge, just like I showed you. And make sure to picture the chair disappearing,” Eliot said as they both stood in front of the chair. They chose to target that particular chair because Eliot said it was “a hideous monstrosity” that clashed with the rest of the decor but Todd had brought it from home, so he couldn’t just get rid of it, but if Quentin “blew it up or something, oh well.” Quentin liked the chair, it was very squishy. So he was trying real hard not to blow it up.

He was also trying to concentrate, moving his hands through the forms, stretching his fingers into awkward positions, focusing his attention on that one point. He finished the last movement, exhaled, and waited. Nothing. The chair was still there, still old, beige, ripped fabric, and there. 

“I guess I'm not an illusionist then,” Quentin said, his shoulders slumping down.

“Wait, Q, that was only your first try,” Eliot said, coming around to look at him in the face.

“I mean, shouldn’t it be easy? If it’s my discipline?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? But also, maybe it takes a bit? Here. Let me show you, you were too stiff on 37. And also remember to breathe. Do you mind if I…” He reached out and tentatively held Quentin’s hands.

“Uh, yah, ok.” Quentin was definitely not remembering to breathe.

“Ok, so, you have to move your hand like this,” Eliot said as he held Quentin’s hands, gently pushing his fingers into position. Quentin’s hands were strong. I mean, Eliot suspected, but it was still kind of surprising to hold them like this and feel their tension and strength. He’d touched Quentin’s hands before, but this was, something felt closer this time. Like, he couldn’t make eye contact while he moved his fingers, felt them resist and then relax into the motion. Eliot was suddenly very aware of how near they were, and that if he looked up at Quentin now, maybe it would be too much. His hands were warm, and nice, and he wanted to keep holding them, and usually that was fine, but god, it felt like he was falling and dizzy and really happy all at once. He heard Quentin swallow.

“Uh, like this?” Quentin went through the motion again with Eliot’s hands gently resting on his, so he could feel the movements with him.

“Yah, good. Yah, you got it,” Eliot said, stepping back, quickly switching his gaze to the chair. “Try again.”

Oh god, Quentin’s whole mouth was dry. How could he concentrate now? Suddenly, he really needed some water, he needed to get out of this room, and oh god, he really wanted to kiss Eliot. Like it was not ok. Everything was just getting worse as the day went on, and that repression wall was dust under the overwhelming need to just be touched again by Eliot. Quentin started to go through the spell, the movements coming easier as he remembered the way Eliot’s hands had guided him. Please don’t look up. Eliot would see right away, all his feelings right there, his want and need for him. All he could do was try to do the spell, try to pretend his brain wasn’t a mess, and hope that Eliot wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t see the way he was completely undone with one touch. The movements finished, he felt an intense pressure build in his hands and surge through him, hitching his breath, sending his head back. It hit right in the middle, an overwhelming force at his core that pushed him so hard, he fell against the floor, the world slowing as he saw Eliot’s eyes go wide and his hands reach out for him but miss.

“Q! Are you ok?”

He took a few breaths and pushed himself up on his elbow, ok, nothing seemed broken. Except, shit.  “The chair is still there.” The spell didn’t work, of course it didn’t. But wait, why was Eliot looking around frantically?

“Quentin? Are you? Oh my god, Q.”

“What? What’s wrong?!” Quentin said, struggling to stand up. Eliot moved towards him, but his focus was elsewhere.

“Q, ok, don’t freak out. But, I’m pretty sure you’re invisible.”

Shit.


	4. Unseen Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin freaks out and Eliot is there for him, in some very Eliot ways.
> 
> \----  
> Sorry for not being able to post more regularly! Things took a bit of a ridiculously busy and the world is hurting too much turn the past few weeks.  
> The next chapter is mostly written, and will hopefully be a bit longer too!

It was really hard to stand up. He couldn’t see his hands or knees, and he was trying to push himself up, but nothing made any sense. It felt like he was going to collapse over his own feet. So instead, he just stayed where he was, sitting on the floor, that felt safe. Well, not really, but it was happening.

“Q?!” Eliot said, voice shaking, “Are you ok? Where are you?” He tried to study the place that Quentin had been standing before. Nothing, there was nothing. Just the sound of familiar slow deep breaths, Quentin trying to calm down, somewhere in front of him. He reached his hands out, bending down to feel the space in front of the chair.

“I’m over here,” Quentin said, his words quiet and deliberate. “Um, just a couple feet in front of you, on the floor.”

“Ok.” Eliot slowly inched forward with his hands outstretched. Quentin felt his hand graze his knee. Eliot sighed, and sat down, his hand moving to hold onto Quentin’s leg. Seeing Quentin literally vanish in front of him had been a bit much, but at least he could still feel him. The coarse denim on his knee, the practically vibrating nerves of Quentin underneath. “Good,” he said, sounding relieved, “You’re not incorporeal.” 

“No, I’m... here. But, um, yah, invisible. Hooray. I did it.” Quentin said flatly, letting out a large sigh. 

“Yayyy.” Eliot replied, trying to give a reassuring squeeze.

“Soooo…. Know any good invisible reversal spells? …. Uh for visibilizing??” Quentin asked, feeling like he was going to puke, but also really worried about invisible puke being hard to clean up. He tried to move his hand to Eliot’s over his knee, but his proprioception was all wonky, like he had suddenly forgotten how long his arms were. Eventually, his pinky grazed Eliot’s hand and he grabbed it, gripping tightly to feel an anchor to anything physical and real.

“It’s ok, I think it should wear off?” Eliot didn’t sound as sure as he wanted to. He didn’t really know, but usually novice spells didn’t have the energy to last very long. “I think when I first tried this, the spell wore off after a few hours.”

Quentin resumed his deep breathing. Four seconds in, hold for seven, out for eight. In, hold, out. Repeat. You don’t have to do anything, just breathe. As far as destabilizing feelings, not being able to see your own body was a pretty good trip into hard dissociation. If he could just focus on his breath, the feeling of Eliot’s hand, he was here, he wasn’t gone, he was here still. Eliot was with him, waiting, and he seemed to be also consciously trying to slow his breathing, to match Quentin’s. They didn’t talk for what felt like an hour but was probably only a couple minutes.

“I... uh, sorry,” Quentin said, almost in a whisper.

“No, it’s ok. What do you need?” Eliot replied, looking down at his hand. He could see the indentations that Quentin’s fingers were making on his skin. The white marks left by their pressure felt reassuring. 

“This is really weird, sorry. I don’t know what to do. It’s hard to… maybe I can try to stand up now?”

“Yeah of course,” Eliot said softly. He stood up, keeping Quentin’s hand in his and slowly lifting him into what felt like a standing position. He felt Quentin lean into him, his other hand reaching over to grab his elbow. Ok, so Eliot was into this, and that felt kinda guilty yes, because Q was obviously freaking out and needed support, but also, was it so awful that he could get very used to the feeling of Quentin all over him, needing him. And, not that his own feelings mattered much here, but it was hard to ignore the discomfort in his chest when he looked over to where Quentin was supposed to be, and he just wasn’t. So yes to all the physical contact, please.

“So, a few hours?” Quentin asked, his voice pitched high.

Eliot took a deep breath, thinking about being confident and reassuring, fake it till you make it, but... “I actually don’t have a clue. I don’t know how this happened. It shouldn’t have, so I’m not totally sure how long it will last. When I cast this spell before, it was only on inanimate objects. But, it must have taken alot of energy to do… this.” Eliot tried to look over at Quentin again, swallowing his discomfort to offer a warm smile, “I can’t imagine that much energy is stable for very long.”

“Yah, I don’t know what happened either. It kind of sent me reeling, but hey? I guess I can deal with being invisible for a few hours.” Quentin leaned into Eliot more. “Hopefully…”

“Ok,” Eliot said, steadying himself, figuring it was time to lighten the mood, distract Quentin with nerd bait. “I mean, maybe this can be kind of fun? There must be an invisible superhero type you’ve thought way too much about?”

Quentin laughed softly against his shoulder. “Sure, I mean, who hasn’t wanted to be Sue Richards.”

“Who?” 

Quentin squeezed Eliot’s arm. “The Invisible Woman! Jesus Eliot, she also has wicked psionic force fields. Can bend light, a little like Alice actually.”

“Uh… stacked?” Eliot said, eyebrow raised.

Quentin pointedly ignored that. “Married to Reed Richards, Mr. Fantastic! The stretchy superhero slash scientific genius slash handsome professor type with great hair, silver streak at the temple. Of course everyone was jealous of Sue Richards! The Fantastic Four, you have to know them!”

“Ohhhh Chris Evans, right?! In a towel!” Eliot smiled, pleased with himself.

Quentin sighed, exasperated. “Uh yah, yes. But um no, he was the human torch. And we don’t acknowledge those movies, ok?”

“Ok, ok,” Eliot said, squeezing Quentin’s hand, “So, Ms. Richards, what shall we do with your new-found superpower?”

Quentin wanted to feel braver. He wanted to walk over to the bar and start pouring a drink, juggling glasses while Eliot got mad and tried to grab them out of his hands. He wanted to go out onto campus and prank knowledge students, whispering ominous messages from ‘beyond the veil.’ He could probably do some really elaborate card tricks, fulfilling every one of his childhood magic dreams. But actually, he just couldn’t. Everything felt awful. His body was _ invisible _ and he couldn’t tell where he ended and nothing began. The only thing that was stopping a full-on panic attack right now was the feeling of Eliot’s hand in his. It was like his touch was preventing him from fully disappearing into nothing, into non-existence. The heat of his hand on his, their difference in temperature. Eliot was always a bit hotter than him (in so many ways), and Quentin could feel his hand growing warmer in his grasp, like he could still be affected, like he was still in the world. 

“Yah, uh, this is probably super boring. But could we actually just like watch a movie or something?” Quentin said, his voice wavering. “I know it’s not the most exciting use of literal invisibility.”

Eliot smiled. “Of course, Q. That sounds nice, do you want to come up to my room?” Eliot started to disentangle their bodies, meaning to head upstairs. But Quentin lurched forward, grabbing his arm again with one hand while holding Eliot’s hand tight with the other.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “Sorry. I just, I kinda need to hold onto something right now. Everything feels a little fucked up…”

“Oh!” Eliot said, giving Quentin a reassuring squeeze with his hand. “Yah, totally. It’s fine. Come on, you ok to walk upstairs with me?”

“Yah, just… uh slowly.” 

Eliot carefully led Quentin up the stairs, waiting until he was steady on each step before taking another. 

“Ok, and last one,” Eliot said, moving backwards as he held Quentin’s hands. 

“Yes, I can still *see* the stairs, El.”

Eliot smirked, “Hm, I see that invisibility has no effect on brattiness.”

“Shut up.” 

He went on, “Hopefully one day, our handsome professor types will find a cure.”

“Oh my god,” Quentin said, “You are going to tell everyone about this aren’t you.”

Eliot opened his bedroom door, temporarily disengaging the wards one-handed and leading Quentin inside.

“Oh Q, of course I am. This is making it into my summer highlight reel.”

“What would those pictures even be?!” Quentin asked as Eliot led him over to the bed, but he still bumped loudly against its wooden frame. “Ow!”

“Oh yes, ok, we definitely have to do a photoshoot later!” Eliot grinned, as he helped Quentin flop onto the bed. “Are you ok if I go get the laptop?”

“Yah, I think I’m good here,” Quentin replied as he adjusted himself onto the bed, letting go of Eliot’s hand and trying to figure out how to lie back against the headboard. “Again, a photoshoot of what exactly?”

“Maybe you can do a few poses? Like, hold a few objects. Oh, I have an *excellent* idea.” Eliot put his laptop on the bed and started rummaging through his nightstand.

“No! Eliot! No way!”

“Come on, Q! We probably won’t have this opportunity again…” Eliot beamed at him, a large pink glass buttplug in his hand.

“I am not holding sex toys in photos for your social media feed!” Quentin said, trying to sound serious and failing into the beginnings of laughter. But mostly, he was just very glad that Eliot couldn’t see how deep he was blushing.

Eliot turned his head to the side and bit his lip, unable to resist latching onto Quentin’s obvious embarrassment. “I mean, I didn’t think you would be holding it… per se.”

“Eliot!” 

“What?! Just imagine the possibilities, Q!” He crawled onto the bed, holding the butt plug up in front of him and moving it up and down and around in circles. This definitely wasn’t how butt plugs worked, but the pantomime was hilarious, especially with Quentin shaking the bed with laughter and trying to ineffectively push the approaching dancing sex toy away.

And Quentin knew that Eliot was teasing him on purpose, trying to help him feel normal. But he was also imagining those possibilities and he was pretty sure his cheeks were bright red. Again, increasingly grateful for invisibility.

“Why does anybody think you’re mature? Is it literally just the tall thing?” Quentin said, finally pinning Eliot’s arm and grabbing the toy away from him before suddenly realizing, omg, he was holding  _ Eliot’s butt plug, _ and quickly setting it down on the nightstand.

“Partially,” Eliot said, smirking, “but mostly it’s the palpable big dick energy.”

Quentin groaned, “Oh my god, you actually can’t help yourself. El, please, let’s just watch something, ok?” 

“Fiiiine, but maybe after all this is done, you can teach me how to do the spell?” Eliot said, scooting up to sit beside Quentin at the head of the bed. “Assuming, you know…”

“I don’t stay this way forever, or fade away into nothingness, or die horribly, yes, Eliot, fine. If none of those things happen, I will teach you how to turn yourself invisible so that you can make very specific porn for a kink that no one else has.” Quentin said while squishing himself into Eliot’s side, arms and legs touching.

“It would be very artistic…” Eliot said. “Also, you really need to explore the internet more, Q.”

“It would just look like it was floating in mid-air! No one else would get it!”

“Oh… they’d get it.” Eliot grinned lasciviously. He could hear Quentin’s head fall back against the headboard in exasperation.

“Alright, fine, what do you want to watch?” Eliot said, opening his laptop.

“Um, something very distracting. Oooo, have you seen Farscape?” 

“No, what’s that?” Eliot said, typing it into Netflix.

“It’s like an amazing sci-fi show from the early 2000s. Kinda low budget, but really great writing. Also, super strange but in a genius way. Lots of cool models and puppets.”

“Uhhhh….” Eliot said.

“Just try it! I think you will actually like it!” Quentin said, squeezing his arm as Eliot sighed and hit play on the pilot.

After a couple of episodes, Eliot had to admit that it was actually pretty good. Weird, but good.

“So?” Quentin asked, obviously excited that Eliot was paying attention and not on his phone. During the first episode, Quentin basically gave an entire oral dissertation on how the show “disrupted mainstream expectations of science fiction” and Eliot actually shushed him so he could listen to the dialogue. 

“Yah, I mean, yah. It’s good. Also, Ka D’Argo can get it.”

Quentin scrunched up his face, “Uh, I guess. I mean, he’s no Claudia Black as Aeryn Sun is all I’m saying. She is, like, ok, I may have had a poster on my bedroom wall.”

Eliot laughed, “Yah, I could definitely see that. When she straddles John with a gun to his face, it was literally the only time you shut up.”

“Yeah…” Quentin said wistfully, caught up in that image again.

“So revealing, Q!” Eliot said, “Being pinned down, huh.” He elbowed him gently.

“Uh… I mean… maybe?” Quentin squeaked.

Eliot bit his lip, resisting a wide grin. Oh god, the thought of holding Quentin’s arms down as he straddled his hips, it was actually too much to think about at the moment. Definitely later though. “Believe me, I get it. There’s a less femme Margo energy there, and I know she looks small, but if she wants to hold you down…”

Quentin laughed, “Yah, I have no trouble believing that. But uh…” Quentin’s mind was spinning. 

“Mm, yah. I wonder how her little vacation is going?” Eliot said, sighing a little.

“You miss her huh?” Quentin asked, grateful for the change in subject but also, Eliot and Margo were usually glued at the hip, and it *had* been an eventful few days without her. He was probably pretty done with this whole ‘situation’ that Quentin had entangled him in.

“Yah, of course I miss her.” Eliot smiled a little, then laughed thinking about Margo being with them. “But, she would be *terrible* at this. She would definitely be trying to get you to go dancing, beat up handsy men, and steal millions in designer clothes. Oh, and she would almost certainly try to fuck you.”

Quentin squealed and tensed up. “Uh no, she wouldn’t. Margo doesn’t want to…”

Eliot laughed. “Oh honey, first off, it is wild that you have no idea how gorgeous you are. Margo would totally bone you if she didn’t think your brain would literally implode afterwards. You should ask her if you’re interested, by the way. But knowing her, she probably also has her own Sue Richards fantasy with invisible things going into places…”

“Ugh, Eliot. Oh my god.” Quentin stuck his tongue out, even if Eliot couldn’t see him. But also, Eliot thought he was gorgeous? That couldn’t be right. This was probably just another effort to distract him in his own particularly pervy way. Quentin supposed it was working, distraction accomplished.

“Ok, fine. Such a prude!” Eliot said, smirking.

It was all so strange, how normal the evening had begun to feel, like as long as he wasn’t looking directly at Quentin, Eliot could pretend it was a regular night, that they were just sitting in his bed, talking and watching something on his laptop. But also, everything felt more intimate, like there were very few barriers between them. And while Quentin was so physically close he was almost on top of him, it was more that they needed to be in this moment together. He knew it was the only thing keeping Quentin tethered right now, so they were both putting all their focus on it, the tv show, the bed, their bodies touching, each other’s voices. He had only ever felt this close to Margo before, and now, there was Quentin too.

“Do you want to watch more?” Eliot asked, mindlessly rubbing Quentin’s hand with his thumb.

“Yah sure… uh Eliot?” 

“What’s up?” 

“So, uh, I was hoping the spell would have worn off by now, and it hasn’t yet, but maybe, is it ok if I stay the night here? If it’s not, it’s totally ok, I completely understand if you need your space after spending all day with me pretty much glued to you. I’m fine to go to my bed I think, I feel a bit better. It’s just that I’m a bit worried about waking up and…”

“Q,” Eliot interrupted, “Yes, of course you can stay here. I guess it’s getting pretty late. Are you comfortable, do you need anything?”

“Um, maybe some pyjamas, I can go get them…”

“Right. Pyjamas.” Eliot said, getting up. Yes, that’s a thing people wear. “I think I have some somewhere in here… and no you stay there. I’ll go get yours.”

Eliot left the room and returned a few minutes later, putting a pair of boxer briefs and a soft t-shirt on the bed. He supposed he would have to wear something too, he normally slept naked but he didn’t want Quentin to be uncomfortable. He went to go get something from his closet before stopping. “Oh, wait, do you want me to leave the room so you can change?” Eliot asked.

Quentin laughed and Eliot smiled, “Right, yah, that doesn’t make any sense.” He continued to his closet, and unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off and carefully hanging it in its place.

Quentin wasn’t really sure what to do, his breath coming faster as he watched Eliot take his undershirt off. His brain raced thinking about watching Eliot undress. He could just stare and Eliot would never know, probably he didn’t even care. But Quentin would sit there and memorize every inch of Eliot’s body. His cheeks felt hot, but it just didn't feel right, like yah, this was definitely the pervy side of invisibility that teenage boys dreamed of. He turned around on the bed to face the wall and change out of his clothes. 

It was actually really strange trying to take off invisible clothes. Like, he wasn’t sure where to put them. He opted for a pile on a chair next to the bed, at least he hoped that is where they landed as he awkwardly threw them in that direction. Also no less strange was how he was suddenly completely naked on Eliot’s bed. As he felt Eliot’s comforter against the bare skin of his ass, blood rushed straight to his dick. Fuck. He quickly pulled on his briefs only to look down, mortified. Double fuck. Of course these new clothes are visible. Which would be fine, even great, except that the boxer briefs were actually really tight, and his erection was now also really visible. Without turning around, he grabbed the t-shirt and pulled it on before quickly diving under the safety of the thick blankets. And god were those blankets necessary. Eliot was approaching the bed now, dressed in only a tank top and his own tight boxer briefs. God damn, his arms were hot.

“Oh my god, Q!” Eliot shouted, eyes wide.

Shit, could he tell?!

“Your shirt! I can see it!” He jumped onto the bed and grabbed Quentin’s shoulders.

“Um, yah, I guess, I mean, that makes sense. I wasn’t uh... wearing it when I cast the spell.” Quentin was stammering. He was very distracted by Eliot being so close while he was still so hard under the blankets. Hopefully, Eliot wasn’t going to fully climb on top of him in his excitement, actually, he kinda hoped that he would, but no, no, that probably wouldn’t go well.

“Holy shit! Well, this is great, we probably should have thought about this earlier. Ok, so it’s a little weird to see only your clothes moving around. But um, it probably feels better this way right? Like you can see yourself now!” 

Quentin looked down, watching his chest rise and fall with the fabric of his t-shirt. Eliot was right, this did help his dissociation. 

Quentin laughed, “Yah, wow, I never thought I would like my own clothes this much.”

“Me either, honestly.” Eliot moved beside Quentin, getting under the covers with him. “But yah, it’s really nice to be able to see you again.” He smiled, putting his arm around Quentin’s shoulders.

“Thanks, uh, yah.” Quentin was overwhelmed, he hadn’t thought this through. He was going to have to sleep next to Eliot, when he looked like this? All sleepy, sweet touches and bare skin. But, god, he *really* didn’t want to be anywhere else. “Do you uh, want to watch more tv?”

“Sure.” Eliot brought the laptop up, loading the next episode.

“Ok, so this next one is kind of a weird action episode where Rygel is held ransom and the rest of the crew have to rescue him, guns blazing. There’s even a power metal soundtrack.”

Eliot laughed, “I still don’t understand how I like this show.”

“Yah, I mean, not that surprising, it’s like great sci-fi, but also really horny... campy... sarcastic and kinda insane so...” Quentin said as Eliot hit play.

Eliot grinned, “Mm, yes, my Myers-Briggs categories.” 

After another episode, Eliot could hear Quentin sleeping, his breaths slow and steady. He put the laptop onto the side table and telepathically turned off the lights. In the dark of the room, it was dangerously easy to fall into the fantasy of this very cute boy in his bed. He could feel Quentin curl up against him, his hand moving to lay across Eliot’s stomach as his forehead rested against his shoulder. Eliot rationally understood that Quentin was feeling awful and needed this physical connection purely for supportive, magically induced seriously bad trip reasons. But also, he could  _ feel  _ his breath against his arm, and the warmth of Quentin’s hand was dangerously close to his dick. What was even happening, Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had to actively try this hard *not* to sexualize a situation. Quentin’s leg was draped across his, and there was the hair on his calves, the weight of his thigh muscles, the heat from him. It was intoxicating.

And, it made Eliot’s heart ache, thinking about how much Quentin had needed him that night, and that Eliot was actually able to be that person for him. And more than anything, more than cute dimples, and flirtatious teasing, and beautifully kissable lips, he wanted Quentin to feel and be safe with him. So he settled in, felt the momentary discomfort pass, and let himself be drawn into sleep by warmth and tenderness and all things good and Quentin. 


End file.
